


Treasure

by ereshai



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:46:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ereshai/pseuds/ereshai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by  <a href="http://ereshai.tumblr.com/post/28190907665/crusingthroughreality-screaming-because-stiles">this</a> picture on tumblr. And because Goddessofbirth asked for it. :)<br/>Stiles learns something unexpected about his dad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoddessofBirth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/gifts).



The hall closet had become their junk drawer. Because, obviously, a drawer was not going to cut it. Not in the Stilinski household. Go big, or go home.

Which made no sense, because Stiles was home. Go big in your own home?

That worked. Not perfect, but it worked.

One thing about junk drawers, besides the fact that you find things in them you never owned, is they need to be cleaned out once in a while. At least once a decade, anyway, and that deadline was looming.

So, in the interests of father-son harmony, Stiles had voluntold _himself_ to clear out the closet so they can do more than hang a couple of coats in it and dump their boots just inside the door. Like store lacrosse equipment. Or golf clubs, if his dad ever started golfing. Maybe move the gun safe up from the basement? The closet was deep enough for it, and they definitely didn’t need all that stuff hanging in there - was that his Halloween costume from the third grade? That was going into a burn barrel somewhere.

So, piles. Keep, Donate, Trash. All the hanging stuff was pretty easy to take care of. Too small, donate. Haven’t worn it in years, donate. Don’t remember ever wearing even once your life, donate. Anything of Mom’s, back in the closet. Mental note to Google if those wedding dress preservation places would do jackets.

The various pairs of footwear were a little harder. How used was too used? Did Dad wear that pair of boots anymore? They really made light-up shoes in that size? Finally, he just decided to create an Undecided pile so he could deal with them later.

And the boxes. Boxes of anything and everything. Why weren’t they in the basement? He’d just put them all down there, where they could be dealt with when they cleaned out the basement, which was due sometime before the end of the next decade. That was one task he would not be tackling without major backup of the fatherly type.

The closet was starting to take on a Harry-Potter-at-the-Dursley’s-before-the-Hogwarts-letter-arrived vibe. Stiles vaguely remembered using it as a fort when he was younger, before it achieved junk drawer status. He used to keep his treasures here in a wooden box, tucked in the far corner. He knew exactly where that box was now, and that wasn’t in this closet, but he checked the corner anyway.

There was a wooden box there. Not his, of course, but very similar. He recognized it, even though he hadn’t seen it since the day he and his mom had picked it out, along with his and one for his dad. There was a carved ‘S’ on the lid, surrounded by delicately drawn vines and flowers. His had the ‘S’, too, but with stars instead.

Stiles pulled the box out of the corner and set it on his knees. Should he? It was pretty rude to look at someone’s treasures without their permission. Invasion of privacy. And why would she have hidden it like that? Could Dad have done it? All good reasons not to open it. All good reasons to open it. He traced the ‘S’ with one finger. What would she have considered a treasure? He opened the box.

There were pictures scattered on top. Mostly him and his dad, a few with mom in them (which he may accidentally have put in his shirt pocket), even one with him and Scott. Him as a baby, naked in the tub - were naked baby pictures mandatory? Was there a chapter in _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ about it? Wedding pictures. Dad’s graduation from the police academy. Mom’s college graduation. Pictures of random people, with no helpful names or dates on the back to identify them.

Under the pictures, there was an assortment of items - ticket stubs from concerts and movies, a paper napkin with smudged writing that he stopped trying to decipher after the words ‘naked breasts’, a motel room key, a cut-glass heart, a well-loved rag doll about the size of his hand. A packet of letters, addressed to her from Dad.

At the very bottom of the box was a magazine. He pulled it out, because was that his dad? A lot younger, but, yeah, that was his dad. Why was his dad on the cover of a magazine, and why didn’t he already know about this?

“Oh. My. God.” Stiles finally registered the name of said magazine. _Playgirl_. What was his dad doing on the cover of _Playgirl_? “Oh. My. God.” An issue devoted to men in uniform. His dad was a ‘mega-hunk who revealed his most intimate turn-ons’. He checked the date. 1998? His married, father of a toddler, dad had posed for _Playgirl_ and revealed his MOST INTIMATE TURN-ONS.

He gripped the magazine tightly. It wouldn’t do for the thing to fall open, causing permanent mental scarring along with his new desire for extensive therapy.

“Stiles? What are you doing?” He jumped at the sound of his dad’s voice.

“Oh, you know, cleaning out the hall closet.” His voice sounded unnaturally high to his own ears. “So, these boots. You ever wear these? And, while you’re answering questions, you want to explain _this_?” Stiles held up the magazine, thrusting it accusingly toward his dad.

“So that’s where it went.” His dad pulled off his jacket and draped it over his arm.

“Yes, your dark secret has been revealed. How are you in _Playgirl_? Married, Dad. And a dad, Dad. Not cool.”

“Only single, childless men are allowed to pose nude? I’ll make a note of that. Now, is this freak out going to last much longer, or are you going to let me hang my jacket in the closet?”

“This freak out is going to last until I no longer need brain bleach, thank you. You might want to invest in a coat rack.”

His dad just shook his head and went into the kitchen. “Put that thing back where you found it and clean up this mess. And I don’t wear those boots, they pinch my toes.”

“You can’t avoid this issue forever, Fabio!” When his dad didn’t answer, he put all of his mom’s treasures back in the box, laying the magazine on top of everything. He piled the donations into an empty box, kicked all the shoes back into the closet, and slid the stack of basement-bound boxes over to the basement door. Then he grabbed the treasure box and took it into the kitchen.

His dad was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Stiles put the box in the middle of the table. He poured out a couple of glasses of milk while his dad dished two bowls full of…soup? Yes, soup, and a plate of sandwiches.

They ate in silence, his dad staring at the box, and Stiles focusing determinedly on his food. When they finished, he cleared his and his dad’s dishes, and sat down again. His dad put his hand on the box, resting it there for a long moment.

Finally, he lifted the lid and took out the magazine. He smirked and laid it on the table.

“That was your mother’s idea. She thought it would be funny. You didn’t actually look inside, did you?” His dad winced and glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“God, _no_ , Dad. Gah, brain bleach. Again.”

His dad picked another item out of the box, his face a little sad. It was the cut-glass heart.

“This was her first Mothers’ Day gift from you.”

He went through each item, sometimes telling a little story about it, sometimes just smiling wistfully. Stiles sat and listened, eyes closed, thinking about his mom.


End file.
